


Look For the Campfire

by furfrov



Category: Nuclear Throne (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furfrov/pseuds/furfrov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look for the campfire.</p><p>     Those were the words spread through the wasteland. The inflection behind the words different depending on who you were talking to ; some meant it as a way of encouragement that there was a chance things would get better -- that so long as the campfire burns, so does the chance that life will improve for all. For others, it was a warning. Look for the campfire and you will find your death. Whether it were by betraying the others and attempting to make contact with the group, or by attempting to attack the group yourself -- either way, it would only lead to a poor future.</p><p>     Regardless on how you took to the news of the gang of mutants, it was certain that things were changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue.

Darkness. Every night it was the same thing; gangs of Ravens and Bandits disputing territory issues only for them to end with the IDPD showing up to break them apart. Nothing was going to change - they all knew that. For many, it was an accepted way of life -- things had been this way for years and for the most part, things worked; well, enough for the mutants to live if this could be considered living. For the most part, things were... peaceful -- as peaceful as things could get in this post-apocalyptic world. Word of a band of various mutants traveling the wasteland had begun to spread -- words both good and bad. Some spoke of how they were trying to change things for the better, while others merely said they were trying to stir up trouble. One thing which was for certain was the fact the IDPD wanted nothing more than to dispose of them as quickly and quietly as possible; rumour had it one of the gang members was an ex-officer of the police themselves, though maybe it was just a mix up in translation since it was unheard of for someone to _leave_ the IDPD -- alive, anyway.  
Thusfar, these were just rumours spread by the bandits who live in the Scrapyard which make the regular trades between the pods of them living in the Desert with the Big Bandit himself. Word had it that the gang of mutants took him out of commission, but that was hard to know -- the bandits went in and out of their place of leadership so frequently, who really knew what was the cause of the previous' downfall. The idea of a ragtag group of misfits and miscreants taking down the strongest bandit in order, though, was rather interesting so everyone has grown to accept it as the truth regardless of its credibility. The identities and names as well as numbers of the group varied based on who you spoke to, however, everyone agreed on two of the mutants for being legitimate; the first being a green fish-like humanoid being known to "roll" -- apparently he also played a guitar during his off time; the second being a purple gem-mutant -- its been said that they're always together.

_Look for the campfire._

Those were the words spread through the wasteland. The inflection behind the words different depending on who you were talking to ; some meant it as a way of encouragement that there was a chance things would get better -- that so long as the campfire burns, so does the chance that life will improve for all. For others, it was a warning. Look for the campfire and you will find your death. Whether it were by betraying the others and attempting to make contact with the group, or by attempting to attack the group yourself -- either way, it would only lead to a poor future.

Regardless on how you took to the news of the gang of mutants, it was certain that things were changing.


	2. A New Beginning.

Bright fuchsia-hued eyes peered down an alleyway, darting around at all of the Ravens and Bandits as they went about their business. Shops were being set up for the morning, all selling different wares; some sold weapons, old and new, though most were overpriced, others sold foodstuffs or housing materials; common necessities all need to survive. Thievery wasn't unheard of in the wasteland, though it was strongly discouraged by vendors, all of whom had weaponry of some sort hidden under their tables and booths. Most of the others in the marketplace couldn't care less who stole from whom so long as they weren't involved. Life was rough enough without someone taking you down for every little thing you did. Morals were mixed in this land -- what was basic "right" and "wrong" before all of this has long been demolished.  
Pulling a tattered quilt around her shoulders, a young Raven stepped through the passageway as she had done many times over during her life, shouldering past a bandit walking beside another Raven, though noticeably older, Songbird tried to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible. That was never anything hard to do, however, all the Ravens and Bandits blended together that no one noticed one another unless they knew each other specifically.  
The wastelands were never particularly warm, especially the closer you got to the Frozen City which laid north, but today felt even more frigid than regular. Not everyone had the luxury of such a nice blanket, so Songbird was ever grateful on a day like this. Stepping over a puddle, the avian humanoid picked up her pace and pulled her blanket closer to herself, underneath was concealed a small burlap sack, coins jingling inside. Currency wasn't a common thing in the wastelands, but to many, the metals are regarded as precious as they are able to be smelted down and refurbished into ammunition; something which seemed would never lose its value.

Up ahead laid the booth held within the young Raven's mind -- it belonged to another Raven such as herself, though the others feathers were tattered, small scars laying underneath its plumage. You can tell during their time running the market, they had seen some things and done even more. Shuffling past a small crowed of Bandits trying to haggle some prices, Songbird made her way to the front, nodding at the shopkeeper, keeping an even tighter grip on her bag. **"You probably know why I'm here, yeah?"** the young bird cawed-- no actual words came from her beak, well, words in the way we know them as as. [ Authors Note : The Ravens speak in caws, though it was processed as any other language to them. As the writer, I _could_ write a bunch of ''caws'' and then put parenthesis around the translated word, but honestly it would only look stupid in this context. They're both speaking bird what do you want from me. ]  
Looking up from her counter, the merchant gave a soft smile. **"I don' do credit, sweetheart."** She spoke softly before reaching to her side and grabbing a rifle; at first, Songbird worried what the reason was for until the Raven grabbed a cloth off the desk and began cleaning the barrel. The Bandits obviously took this as a warning - probably one they have seen before - and began walking off, grumbling about something in their native language. Shaking her head, finally recovered from the shopkeepers actions, the younger Raven began again.  
**"No, no, I have money-- um--"** Pulling one wing from the quilt she currently used as a cloak, Songbird revealed the sack of change she had gathered over the past months; most of it was achieved by doing some jobs here and there or acting as a sentry during the moments the IDPD or the Legion of Bandits were on worse terms than they are now, but it would be a lie to say some of it wasn't done through a little slight of hand. Life was hard, after all, so who could blame a little bird for becoming a thief every now and again -- it sure beat living on a junk pile living off of scraps; that was for sure. Setting the sack of coinage on the rusty counter top, Songbird let the merchant examine the contents inside. **"Hopefully this will suffice?"** She cawed out as the other inspected the loot.  
Songbird was no longer sure of how much was in the bag -- she just threw in whatever she could spare after buying the necessities over the past months, but surely it would be enough for her to arm herself; even a simple shotgun most Ravens were able to come by would suffice. Ever since word of those mutants came about, everyone in the Scrapyard seemed even more on edge than they were before so now was as good a time as any for her to get protected.  
**"Hmm... yes. This'll do."** The shopkeeper said finally, grabbing the sack and placing it under her counter. **"Now you do know we don' sell nothin' fancy, right? I'm not having no customers comin' to me afterwards asking for some refund because they wanted something "cooler"."** She cawed bitterly before standing up from her stool, looking around the crates she had behind her before pulling out just what Songbird had anticipated: a standard Raven gun. Not like she had any complaints; these had worked for Ravens for years, so it would work for her just the same. Giving another nod, Songbird held her wings out as the merchant handed the weapon to her. It was... heavier than she imagined it would be. She had held revolvers before while working as a sentry and at times, she grabbed guns for others, but this was different in a way. This gun was _hers_. **"Do you know how to shoot it? Don't want you blowing someones head off because you're unsure of what to do."** The merchant bird sneered -- clearly this had happened to her before.  
Nodding a final time, the younger Raven began revolving the shotgun in her "hands", examining it closely. **"Yes, mam."** she cawed, not removing her eyes from the firearm for another good minute before her attention was called to the other as they reached into another crate, this one filled with ammo instead of guns. The merchant-bird gave her customer a look, wary on weather or not she was telling the truth. It was apparent she had never held such a large weapon before simply by the way she was holding the gun, but that wasn't her problem now. She had gotten the answer she desired, so there was no reason to press further; if that Songbird got hurt, that was on her. She had her chance to learn to shoot properly, after all. Raising her brows in a "if you say so" manner, the weapons merchant handed the other a small bag of bullets; she would have to pay extra if she wanted something better.  
  
Throwing the gun around her shoulder, the leather strap going across her chest, Songbird took the bag of ammo, losing her balance for a moment due to the weight of it. The gun she knew would be heavy, but bullets were so small, she supposed she forgot how heavy things can be when in such masses. She wasn't sure how much ammo she had, but she was grateful for it nonetheless; some other shops around these parts make you pay separately for ammo, so this amount was as good as any. Dipping her head slightly, the younger Raven grabbed the corners of her quilt again, concealing the bag of ammo within her arms and began walking back to her home. Now that she was armed, she felt as though she were drawing more attention to herself than she was comfortable with. Being known as the Songbird around these areas, it wasn't uncommon for her to get some looks, but these stares were different. They felt almost hostile and in response, she felt the feathers around her neck raise. These intimidation tactics of trying to appear larger were a thing of the past now that guns were a regular deal, but the reflexes still remained.  
Slipping through the alleyway, ducking past an IDPD patrol, Songbird quickly made it up the steps and returned to her home. Slumping down inside the shack, she felt herself relax, the feathers now laying flat as they normally do. Taking the rifle off of her person, Songbird set it down beside her and began loading it with ammo as she had done before during one of her odd jobs. Sighing softly, the blanket still draped gently on her shoulders, the young avian spent her morning preparing for what may happen during the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Well.. here it goes! First post on AO3 -- this story wont be updated too frequently since I only really write it during my off time in programming class but I hope those who see it enjoy it regardless! ;3


End file.
